


Behind the make-up

by qwertysweetea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Flirting, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Marvel Norse Lore, Pre-Slash, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 09:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15555189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertysweetea/pseuds/qwertysweetea
Summary: “Now how about…” The Grandmaster stood from his chair smoothly “…we drop all that glamour and glitz, and see what you’re hiding from me underneath.” It wasn’t a question, the demand in it was clear through the playfulness of his look.He was happy to oblige.Loki isn't used to people seeing passed his Jotun form to what's underneath. It's been a long time since he's worn his mouth scars.





	Behind the make-up

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know much about Norse Mythology: There's a myth in the Prose Edda where Loki decided he was going to be super clever and trick two dwarves into making some good stuff for the God's to get himself out of trouble, but the dwarves weren't stupid enough to be tricked. He makes a bet with them, subsequently loses, tries to outsmart them again, and ends up having his lips sewn shut. It's far more clever than I've made it sound....
> 
> Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, behind all the glitz and glamour, Loki has mouth scars.

Loki knew he stood in the presence of supreme power. Just how powerful was yet to determine; the sheer authority that penetrated the air around them made it thick, it was hard to measure how vast he was… the eccentric décor and bright make-up weren’t making it any easier.

The eyes locked onto him, racking him up and down, seemed to be looking directly into his core, seeing everything.

“Now how about…” The Grandmaster stood from his chair smoothly “…we drop all that glamour and glitz, and see what you’re hiding from me underneath.”

It wasn’t a question, the demand in it was clear through the playfulness of his look. Loki recognised him instantly as a man who had spent a large amount of time getting what he wanted without question. It spoke to a terrifying amount of power and influence, and no little amount of intelligence.

He was happy to oblige. His Jotun flesh always felt as though it was being scorched when it first hit the warm air. The sensation was short lived as the space around him caught the chill. It didn't feel uncomfortable any more than it felt exposing.

The Grandmaster stood, hand propping up his chin and finger pressed into his lips with thought.

“Uhmm… uhmm.” He nodded, seemingly in approval. “Interesting, different. But uh,” he smiled, a quick and cocky thing which made Loki’s stomach instinctively sink “I’m a lot more interested in what else you’ve decided to keep hiding from me.”

Loki knew what the other was talking about. Before he could fain ignorance the surprise has knitted his eyebrows together, and then there was no disguising it. His Aesir presentation was rarely seen through, and when it was they found themselves too enraptured in trying to understand what they were seeing in his Jotun form to consider that there might have been more he was hiding.

His mouth scars rarely had a place on him anymore – a reminder of a different era, one he would rather face on his own and when he chose, not when others curiosity drove him to.

In the split second the other gave him to think, he came to the realisation that this being would see through almost everything he had to show him; Loki would have admired him if his skill hadn’t been unveiled at his own expense. With the last of his animosity, he shook away the remnants of the charm. His mouth, previously a pair of pretty, rosy lips curved into a sure smile, became a stony mess of gnarled flesh.

Lips, still pink but now uneven, looked like they had once been as pretty as the ones he’s chosen to present himself with – now, not so much. His expression soured like he didn’t know how to be comfortable with them, smile with them, and talk with them.

The Grandmaster stepped forward, into Loki’s personal space, his own lips pursed once again in thought as his eyes danced over the reformed image. He was clearly a man of experience and age; he had seen nearly all there was to see and had heard nearly all there was to hear – nothing in the cosmos was new to him and very little had the ability to shock him.

This, he had undoubtedly seen before and yet he was enthralled.

Now he was closer, the mess of scars took on a different form; thick puncture marks were conjoined, some by thinner lines and others by even thicker tears. Some were on the lining of his lips, others in the flesh just above or below, the pattern zig-zagging. They looked chapped without being dry, and the Elder could see that those cracks were scars also.

“These…” when he addressed them, he did so by waving a hand off to the side, “are they customary in your culture? Common?” He added quickly afterward. He had nothing left to uncover, only to dissect. “A rite of passage?” He settled on.

Loki wished he could articulate something poetic, but nothing came to mind. He had never been ashamed of his scars, not nearly as much as one would assume. Yes, they were a shining failure but not one that stung nearly as much as others, and while they reminded him of the failure they had the ability to remind him of the cunning he displayed.

He wished he could tell a grand (and just a small amount far-fetched) tale of how they came about, woo the being in front of him with his trickery and dare. When he finally verbalised his response, all that came out was “Not at all. Not even for battle, or torture, or punishment. They are unique.”

The Grandmaster did not look surprised, but his inquisitive eyes shone with amusement and his lips, never shifting from their pout, began to twitch at the corners with a smile. "I’m sure you must have done something very unique to acquire them.”

He stepped closer still, making Loki look down slightly to keep eye contact. The dramatic twist of his head as he did so, in much the same way as a human trying to click out their neck, pulsed flirtation.

“Very.” Loki punctuated, jaw tightening; it punched the air in between them. He had seen women and men swoon from less.

The being simply narrowed his eyes, nothing more, watching Loki from under his lashes because he was the master of this game rather than a pawn in it.

Swiftly, the Grandmaster moved out of his space, back-stepping with eyes full of energetic interest, and took his seat in his chair. Only then did his eyes leave Loki’s, and while his attention remained completely his, his conversation was instantly caught by the woman warrior at his side. He muttered to her without being cautionary over being heard, and when he told her that he liked Loki, it made him sound like an item he wished to purchase.

He used to smile a lot with his lips… his real lips; in his younger days he enjoyed using them to throw off others, lean in close and intimidate them with his confidence. He knew he was charming, with or without them. That had been many years ago. Now, feeling them tighten as his skin strained, he reacquainted himself with the feeling and wondered how he had allowed himself to be without it for so long.

There was something wonderfully powerful in it that he had recognised all those years previous when he wore his old Aesir presentation with grace. He felt it entering him again now, reinstating itself into every part of his being like an old friend, sinking its claws in with the first reuniting hug as if to say ‘you’re not getting away so easy this time’.

He relished the feeling – every aching part of him.

The tip of his tongue darted out, touching the corner before starting its trail: top lip then bottom, left to right then right to left. Every bump, every pucker, every puncture or scar pressing all the way through to the inside or resting on the surface, the thick and the superficial, all wonderfully familiar… all him.

It all happened in a few short moments, and the Grandmaster’s gaze was back on him, thinned with a smug amusement as though he saw, understood and felt it all. That look, Loki understood, powerful enough to kill with a flick or save with a kiss of a smile in them, made him feel like the piece of art he’d always seen himself as.

A promise struck him where he stood: that he was interesting and wonderful, and handsome; here he wasn’t just a piece of art, more – he was a part of a gallery.

“I want to hear it one day,” the Grandmaster said, his voice missing the same dramatic flair that animated his face.

“Ooh, Grandmaster, I have stories to tell.”


End file.
